


Fang and Claw

by A_Big_Old_Skeleton



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: A little Horde Prime being a doof, A little angst, A little redemption, F/F, Look this just kind of happened okay, Nothing like this will happen though, What if the magicats were like the Celts, season 5 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Big_Old_Skeleton/pseuds/A_Big_Old_Skeleton
Summary: Being off-planet has an entirely unexpected effect on Catra. For one thing, her dreams have gotten a lot weirder.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

Catra never used to remember her dreams in the Fright Zone. It wasn’t until her dreams became nothing but a greatest hits of all the various ways she’d hurt those close to her, dreams tormenting her about the loss of Adora and Scorpia and Entrapta and Lonnie and Kyle and Rogelio, that she would wake up screaming and remember them. Dreams, however - _real_ dreams, not a catalogue of betrayal and pain - were for other people, she figured. Once or twice, she thinks she might have woken up with the sound of drums in her ears beating in time with her pounding heartbeat, but the images were all jumbled and incoherent. That was when she was younger. She never really remembered them.

She remembers them now, in what Horde Prime calls “guest quarters” as if it’s not a prison cell. She isn’t sure where the sparkle princess’ (or Queen’s, she supposes) quarters are, though Catra hopes she’s okay. It’s a strange feeling, but Catra knows that losing a _second_ Queen of Brightmoon would break Adora, and it’s become surprisingly clear to her now that she no longer wants that (and she’s starting to suspect she never wanted it at all). If there’s a path to survival, she’ll need the Queen with her because otherwise there’s no fucking way the Alliance would even consider letting her live. It won’t make up for killing the _first_ Queen of Brightmoon (Catra knows nothing will make up for that, and doesn’t expect forgiveness), but maybe if she’s lucky they’ll exile her instead of execute her. 

The weight of regret hangs heavy on her, but for some reason her sleep has been more peaceful here than it’s been since… ever, she thinks. Not that the nightmares have stopped - she’s not that lucky - but sometimes they give way to something almost peaceful. She’s in a forest, the scent of loam heavy in the air. Something in her mind says this is _home_ , she’s _home_ , but Catra’s never been here. The sun’s rays are split through the trees, their branches numerous enough that Catra could walk from shadow to shadow, staying cool in spite of the season - summer, she thinks? - and the sound of insects and small creatures and _life_ is heavy around her. Catra finds herself focusing on the feeling of the earth on her feet, the rustle of the wind through the leaves. She’s at _peace_. She knows it can’t last.

There’s a sudden throb of a drumbeat in the distance. The sun begins to set, and an ocean of stars - stars Catra’s never seen from the planet’s surface, but they feel familiar. The moons shine bright, but the trees block much of their light. Strangely, in spite of a lifetime being abused by Shadow Weaver, of learning to fear the monsters the shadows can hold, Catra feels no fear, now. These shadows feel like home.

“Daughter of Etheria,” a voice says, “have you remembered your birthright?”

Catra whirls around in shock, but sees no one. “What do you mean?” She calls out. “Who are you?” The drums are still beating, and when Catra turns back in their direction, the nature of dreams has placed her in the center of a ring of torches. The drums are louder now, and Catra feels her blood thrum to the beat. She can glimpse shadowy figures outside the circle of torches, a maddening familiarity to their shape and movements. Her tail twitches, and she feels a surge of panic but the drums drown it out, keep her grounded. Catra focuses on the drums, masters her breathing, calms down. 

“The First Ones came bearing gifts,” the voice says, and now Catra can see the speaker. A proud feline form steps forward, clad in primitive-looking leather armor. Her face is covered in a red paint, shapes of letters Catra doesn’t recognize are etched into her arms. “Technologies we’d never seen. They worked miracles, we thought.” Mismatched eyes stare back at Catra, burning with rage. “They _lied_. We were to be a cog in their machine, weaponized to further the glory of their Empire.”

Catra’s heard this talk from Hordak Prime, but to hear the First Ones were no better… something cold curls in her gut. _Adora_ , she thinks desperately, forgetting what Glimmer had said as the planet readied itself to fire, _I have to warn Adora._

“We fought them,” the speaker continues, “with magic and fang and claw, we struck against them. But we had no chance, for they’d already corrupted Etheria’s defender.” 

“She-Ra,” Catra says, in shock, “She-Ra’s not… from the First Ones?”

“No, child,” there is grief unfathomable on the speaker’s face, “but with the sword, the First Ones could control her, bend her, turn her into their obedient soldier. Yet she was not the only defender. Our people - _your_ people - were also the defenders of Etheria.”

The drums are louder, now, and there’s a low chanting in a language Catra doesn’t recognize and yet recognizes instinctively. She has a sudden vision of an enormous beast, a feline straining against chains glowing with First Ones runes.

“Yet we were not enough. The First Ones could not control us as they did She-Ra,” the speaker continues, “so they severed us. They dug into the planet, making a field that kept us from the source. It runs through the Sword of Protection, but up here, your powers return.”

“How can you…” Catra shakes her head as the drumbeat picks up and the chanting grows in volume, “this is a dream.”

“Dreams,” the speaker says, “are a window to all times, all places. I opened this window seeking hope. My search was not in vain, I deem.” There’s an echo to her voice now, the drums are Catra’s heartbeat, the chanting words speaking of freedom, of breaking chains, of vengeance taken with tooth and claw, of the _hunt_. “You are one of us. Our blood is your blood.” She peers close, and her face twists in sorrow. “But you are not there, yet. Focus! You are so close!”

Catra is teetering on the edge of something, her blood turning to fire. Something slumbering in her chest opens a single yellow eye, and Catra feels a growl rumbling deep in her throat - and then she wakes up, sweating and nearly vibrating with this energy that has nowhere to go but up and out, and she screams, a guttural, ragged cry. 

One of Horde Prime’s clones opens the door to her cell and peers in with a flat sort of curiosity. Catra glares at it imperiously, her lip curled in a sneer. “ _What_?” she snaps.

The clone stares at her a little longer, then says, “Prime will see you shortly. Make sure you are dressed properly for the occasion.”

Which means she’s got to put on the new uniform Prime had so _thoughtfully_ bestowed upon his new servant. It’s so hard not to fall back into her old ways, to figure out what else she can give Prime to gain his favor, claw her way to real power, rule by his side… but that dream died in the Fright Zone’s ruins, with a fake Adora’s hand caressing her face and a final, awful betrayal. She squares her shoulders and allows herself to be escorted to Prime’s throne room, her footsteps echoing the sound of drums.

She gets a lucky break, manages to discover where Glimmer’s being kept. One of the screens in Prime’s throne room shows the Princess pacing in what the petty part of Catra notes are nicer quarters than hers, the screen helpfully providing the coordinates, which Catra cross-references with the coordinates of her own cell. That gives her something to do while Horde Prime talks down to her about how glorious his empire is and the part that she can play in it, provided she behaves. Provided, he says, that she tell him what she knows of the Princess Alliance. Will they try to rescue their Queen? Do they even have the technological capabilities necessary to do so? Who is She-Ra and how can she be controlled or killed? Where can he find the Sword?

Catra gives him as much information as she dares, knowing he’ll gloat about it to Glimmer, knowing that each bit she gives will further convince the Queen of Brightmoon that Catra is nothing but a vile opportunist, a power-hungry monster. Which, Catra supposes, is fair enough. Deep down, Catra knows there’s no redemption for her no matter _how_ this ends, but she’ll at least take the satisfaction of not living under the boot of a tyrant any longer. If she dies - _when_ she dies, she’ll die doing something right for once in her fucking life.

That night, her dreams are all nightmares again, the faces of everyone she’s wronged in pain, because of _her_. Because she pushed them away, or betrayed them, or just lashed out in pain and rage on the closed thing nearby. The forest, its drums, are nowhere to be found for days.

Catra takes to falling asleep whispering apologies that nobody will ever hear, saying the things she wishes she could have the chance to say to Scorpia, to all her old squadmates - to Adora, most of all. Sometimes it keeps the nightmares away, but mostly she does it because she knows instinctively she’ll die before she can see them again. It will be worth it, if she can pull this off. One last grand scheme, except this time she’ll be helping instead of hurting.

“I hurt you,” she says to the Adora in her head one night, “I hurt you because I couldn’t understand why you could change sides so easily. I hurt you because all I know how to do is hurt, because I wanted you to myself and couldn’t bear that you would be willing to sacrifice me for the greater good. I think I understand now. Sometimes doing the right thing hurts. I could have come with you. I wish I’d figured that out sooner.” Then, in a voice that’s barely audible, she says, “I love you. I've always loved you. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you at all. I don’t think I can make things right, but I’ll try anyway.”

Her dreams land her back in the forest, and the sound of drums is quicker to appear than it was the first time. The speaker is waiting for her. “Daughter of Etheria,” she says, and her tone is once more somber, “Do you know the story of the last She-Ra? What she did?”

Catra shakes her head. “No,” she says, “Adora found her ship, but apart from her trying to warn her about… _something_ , I don’t know what happened. She hid the planet from some threat, but I don’t know anything more.”

The speaker raises her hand, and the drums fall silent. “I will tell you, then. I will tell you the tale of She-Ra’s rebellion.”

_The magicats had been stripped of their magic, but continued to fight - guerrilla actions, harrying the First Ones’ settlements. A team discovered the Heart of Etheria project, and took a chance - they revealed the truth to She-Ra, who’d considered them enemies: anarchists hellbent on disrupting the vision of Civilization the First Ones had sworn to protect on Etheria._

_It was the right decision. She-Ra confronted her superiors with the truth, and was horrified to discover they were not only fully aware of what the Heart of Etheria was, but they had in fact planned to use her from the beginning. They tried to convince her that it was for the best - that the galaxy would be safer when their enemies were soundly defeated by this powerful weapon - but She-Ra would not allow it. She swore to stop the weapon from hurting anyone._

_She did not succeed. Before the day was over, hundreds of First Ones were dead, Etheria was hidden in a new dimension, and this home - the forest where the magicats had their kingdom - had been reduced to a wasteland. The Crimson Wastes._

“What was left of our people scattered,” the speaker says, “we took up jobs as mercenaries, spread across the world, and our culture was forgotten. Our role as Etheria’s defenders, in concert with She-Ra, was forgotten.” She gives Catra a searching look. “Now, Daughter of Etheria, answer me: if She-Ra knew how it would end, that she would die, that our land would be destroyed, that Etheria would be sealed away for thousands of years… would she still choose to rebel?”

“Of course.” Catra replies without hesitation. “To die fighting for something right is to die properly.” Then she thinks of Adora, and can’t help but add, “It’s still worth trying not to die, though.”

The speaker smiles. “Very wise, Daughter.” She raises her arms and the torches flare. The drums start again, and the chanting starts. “Catra!” The speaker cries, “You have left the surface of the planet, and in so doing escaped the interference of the First Ones.”

The speaker reaches a hand into a bag slung at her side. When she withdraws it, her hand is covered in the same ruddy red color that paints her own fur. She approaches Catra, who kneels instinctively. The speaker begins painting Catra’s face, drawing intricate symbols along Catra’s arms identical to the ones on her own. Catra’s heart begins thudding in time with the drums, and she closes her eyes, sees the chained beast once more. The chains binding it groan, and she hears a popping noise as a link breaks. 

The speaker continues. “Our people’s power does not come from Etheria, but from its moons. She-Ra was the light of the sun, but our place was the night. Your place is the night. We hunt in the shadows. We strike when the enemy does not expect us. Our teeth are sharp, our claws are long, and our step is silent. Reach within, my Daughter, and claim the power that is yours.”

The chains shatter. The eyes of the beast open, mismatched gold and blue, and Catra knows then what it is. The chanting climaxes into a roar, and Catra roars along with it.

Her eyes snap open, and, without knowing how this will last, without knowing if she will succeed, without knowing anything apart from the power in her veins and the will to fight, to bloody Horde Prime’s nose and make him know fear, she unsheaths her now massive claws and rips through the bulkhead like paper.

There are alarms. There are legions of Horde soldiers. Catra is undeterred. Her nose wrinkles in disgust - this metal and oil is not her home. She focuses, catches the scent of the Queen, and follows it right to Horde Prime’s throne room. Glimmer is in the middle of another intense round of questioning, Horde Prime showing her ruined world after ruined world, threatening her people. He assures her that Catra has fallen into line, that it is far better that she be kind to him rather than risk his wrath, that all have a place in his Empire. Glimmer is about to cut him off when Catra does it for her, though Glimmer’s got no clue that it is, in fact, Catra. All she sees is a massive cat bound through the door, and, in a series of movements almost too fast to follow rake its claws down Horde Prime’s face before batting him into the bulkhead like a toy. The beast whirls on Glimmer, sniffs her, and then, with a jerk of its head, indicate that the Queen should climb aboard. 

Queen Glimmer of Brightmoon stares at the massive furred bulk before her. “Um,” she says, and then, “you want me to… get on your back?”

Catra rolls her eyes and snorts an affirmative. Glimmer seems uncertain, but Horde Prime groans from the corner of the room and Catra growls low in a register that vibrates the floor. That seems to make up Glimmer’s mind, and she does.

“I’m going to regret th- _woah!_ ” Glimmer finds herself clinging on for dear life as Catra bounds down the hallway in the direction of where she knows the hanger to be, because Horde Prime had proudly shown her his strike teams which, he assured Catra, would subjugate the Etherian people should they be foolish enough to stand against him. 

“Wait!” Glimmer says, suddenly. “We have to go back!”

Catra skids to a halt and huffs interrogatively. 

“There’s… there’s another prisoner. We have to save her.” Glimmer says. “She’s… she saved my life. I don’t know if that was her plan, or if it was just to save her own skin, but… she saved me and I won’t let her rot here.”

Catra is flabbergasted. She huffs again and turns to look back at Glimmer, but she can’t quite do it. With all her twisting and turning, however, Glimmer catches a glimpse of her eyes - _really_ catches a glimpse of them and puts two and two together, and gasps.

“Holy shit, _you’re Catra?_ ”

 _Give the girl a prize_ , Catra thinks, but only snorts an affirmative and takes off running again. The hanger is particularly well-defended, but Catra cannot be stopped, even with a very flustered and occasionally screaming Queen clinging to her back. She cuts through legions of Horde Prime clones like they’re nothing. If she could, she’d be laughing with the joy of battle - but she’s a giant cat, and cats don’t laugh, so she settles for unleashing ear-splitting roars, feeling the blood of her ancestors burn hot in her veins. 

Glimmer slips off her back near one of the small fighters in the hanger and pops open the cockpit. “Catra! I don’t know how to fly this damn thing! Can you… change back?”

Which, good question, because Catra doesn’t know, and the Speaker didn’t tell her. She bounds to the hangar doors and swipes at the control panel, causing the doors to slam shut, then lopes over to Glimmer and the ship. Catra closes her eyes, hears the drumbeat that had called her to battle and wills the tempo down. The beast approaches her in her mind’s eye and she holds a hand out. It nuzzles her affectionately, then curls up and goes to sleep. Catra opens her eyes again and she’s Catra once more.

“Alright Sparkles,” Catra says, hopping in the cockpit, “let’s get you home so you can figure out how to save the world.”

She flips switches that seem familiar enough, launches the fighter into space, and points it at the planet’s surface. She’s got no idea, she thinks, how they’re going to land, or what’s going to happen to her when they land, but it doesn’t matter. A thought occurs to her.

“Hey, so you can probably teleport once we get closer to the planet, right? That way you don’t have to…” Catra frowns, reconsiders. “That way _I_ don’t have to. You know. It’s better if I don’t. Nobody wants to.” She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. “There’s nothing for me there.” She finally says. “Better if I’m on my own. Fewer chances to hurt anyone else.”

The feeling of Glimmer’s hand on her shoulder startles her. “Look.” Glimmer says. “I don’t think…” She stops, tries again. “You’ve hurt a lot of people. You’ve hurt _all_ of my friends. I can’t promise anything. But… you saved me. Twice. And Scorpia… she believes you could be a good friend. I think Adora does too, deep down. I don’t really know Scorpia well enough to trust her, but I trust Adora. I should have trusted her _more_ ,” she adds, regret in her voice, “so… come with us. Help us fight.”

Catra is stunned. Scorpia hasn’t given up on her? _Adora_ hasn’t given up on her? She can’t believe it. Part of her doesn’t want to. _Our role as Etheria’s defenders, in concert with She-Ra_ , the speaker said. The magicats had fought one rebellion against an off-world invader and lost. They might lose this time too. But Catra had given her answer to the speaker, and meant it. _To die fighting for something right is to die properly_ , she thinks, and thinks about all the things she wants to say to Adora. _It’s still worth trying not to die, though._

She looks at the runes drawn along her arms. Closes her eyes for a moment and feels the beast, waiting to be called on again. Hears the echo of drums and wonders what other remnants of her people are still wandering the Crimson Wastes. Wonders, briefly, if her parents are among them. “Okay,” she says, finally, “I’ll fight with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra's been sleeping better, but Adora's been sleeping worse.

Adora can’t recall the last time she slept properly. She’s been operating on adrenaline, fueled by guilt, interspersed with the odd collapse due to total exhaustion. Bow has been saying something to her for the last ten minutes, but she can’t focus on it. All she can focus on is the repeated refrain of  _ failure, failure, failure _ in her mind, the thought that if she’d just tried a little harder, she could’ve saved Glimmer, the thought that if she’d been smarter, she could’ve seen Light Hope’s betrayal coming, could have overcome the Sword’s programming without destroying it, could have kept She-Ra without destroying the planet. Could have maybe convinced Glimmer to turn aside from the course she’d set herself upon when she’d decided to pursue the Heart of Etheria as a weapon. But she hadn’t. She’d been too weak, as usual. A blunt instrument. A tool. She wasn’t even good as a soldier.

“-listening to me, Adora? You need  _ sleep _ .” Bow’s voice is strong and sure, belying his own buried exhaustion and grief. Adora thinks that he’s got every right to hate her, and she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t. He places a hand on her shoulder, squeezes tight, and Adora feels a little more grounded. 

“I know, Bow, I just… I let everyone  _ down _ , and without the sword…”  _ I’m useless _ , she thinks, but instead just says, “I don’t know if I can get Glimmer back without it.”

‘Hey, I get it, I do - but I’ve never had magic powers to begin with, and I’m doing just fine. I think you’ll be more than capable of handling yourself even without fancy She-Ra powers.”

That doesn’t really satisfy Adora - Bow might not have magic, but he’s got a keen mind and technical skills that she’s never going to have. Still, she  _ was _ a Horde soldier once, and that counted for… something. Maybe. She isn’t interested in having Bow take on the task of building her own self-esteem back from the nothingness that it is, so she just murmurs a thanks to him and excuses herself to her room, saying that she’ll try to get some rest - provided Bow does the same, of course. In the aftermath, Bow’s taken almost the entire Rebellion on his shoulders, stepping in to bring the King up to speed, keeping the spirits of the Princesses up, and generally making sure there still  _ is _ a Rebellion while Adora’s been trying to find her way. One more debt that Adora’s got to figure out how to pay back.

True to her word - because a dark voice that sounds like Shadow Weaver’s in her head opines she should at least keep a promise to  _ someone _ , for once - Adora heads to her quarters and goes through the motions of getting ready to sleep. Her thoughts run around in circles as she lays in bed, until exhaustion overtakes her.

She’s in a forest. Something about the sight of sends a pang of grief through her, a premonition of enormous loss that makes tears run down her face, though she can’t place exactly why. A flash, white hot, appears in the distance, light and sound rushing for her with the sound of the end of the world, and Adora raises her hand in a futile effort to protect herself. There’s a howling wind that passes over her, and she opens her eyes to the familiar sight of the Crimson Wastes, and there’s someone standing in front of her. 

“Daughter of Eternia,” the voice says, ringing like thunder, “why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” Adora says, squinting at the figure in front of her. It throws off a bright light that nearly blinds her. “There was an explosion.”

“You are not of Etheria,” The voice says, and there’s an undercurrent of anger there, “yet I find you here. Your people came to my world and usurped its very nature, twisted its protector to their own designs. Why are you here?”

“I was a child!” Adora says, in protest. “I was kidnapped by Light Hope! She wanted me to be a weapon, to fire the Heart of Etheria!”

“Your past is not my concern.” The figure in front of Adora is  _ so familiar _ , but she can’t figure out why. “Your people caused this,” sweeping an arm to indicate the ruin of the Crimson Waste, “and sought to cause much worse. You broke the Sword of Protection, denying the purpose your people had given you.  _ Why are you here? _ ”

“I don’t know!” Adora shouts, frustration boiling over. “I didn’t ask to come here! I didn’t ask to be She-Ra! I didn’t ask to be a weapon for a race of genocidal maniacs!” Her hands are in fists, and she takes a step towards the figure, which starts to come into focus but still refuses to resolve. 

“When you shattered the sword, you lost the purpose given to you. Purposeless, you are nothing. My question remains the same.” The figure raises its hand. “Return with an answer.” 

There’s a blinding flash and Adora sits up in her bed, gasping for breath and sweating. She feels like she’s on the precipice of something, but she doesn’t know what. The Horde taught her the importance of preparation, so Adora begins to draw up a plan.

“Tell me one more time,” Bow says, looking at her with the same face of concern he’d once reserved solely for Glimmer, “what is this about?”

“I had some kind of  _ vision _ , I think.” Adora says, knowing how she probably sounds. “While I was sleeping.”

“Adora, those are called  _ dreams _ . You’ve had dreams before, right?”

Adora shoots Bow a glare. “Yes,” she says, gritting her teeth, “of course I have. This was different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know, just…  _ different _ .” Adora waves her hands around in a vague motion. “I saw… I think I saw the creation of the Crimson Wastes. I think it was Mara.”

“You talked to Mara?”

“No, I mean… I was in a forest, and then there was this flash and the forest was gone and I was in the wastes. I think the flash was Mara’s ship.” Adora sighed. “Then this figure showed up and started asking me why I was here and said that shattering the sword had abandoned my purpose, and I had to return to her with an answer to her question.”

“You didn’t recognize them?”

“No, I couldn’t see them clearly.” Adora pauses and gives Bow a look. “You’re just humoring me, aren’t you?”

“What? No, of course not!” Bow says, and wilts a little under Adora’s glare. “Okay maybe a little, but magic’s not my area of expertise, so who am I to say you didn’t have some kind of vision?” There’s another pause, and he adds, “Er, what exactly do you think you have to do?”

“Well,” Adora says, gesturing in the direction of the map she was studying when Bow walked in, “I think the Crimson Waste has something to do with it. It was in the vision, anyway. Maybe there’s something else about Mara there beyond just her ship?”

Bow thinks about this for a moment, walking himself through the dreamlogic. “You say you were in a forest before? Maybe… maybe what you’re supposed to figure out is what was there before the Crimson Wastes.”

Adora’s eyes lit up. “You’re a genius, Bow! We can ask your dads! They’ll know!”

“I’ll send them a message to let them know you’re coming.” Bow says, decisively. “And to let them know what to expect.” 

Adora’s face falls. “You’re not… coming with me?”

Bow sighs. “I would, but… I’ve been working with Entrapta on upgrading Mara’s ship for a rescue effort. There’s something about a stealth system she found last time she was nosing about in the mainframe, and if we can bring that online, we might be able to get Glimmer back.”

There’s an unspoken addition to that, which is  _ Glimmer is my priority _ , but Adora understands the implication anyway. If Adora were still She-Ra, then maybe Bow would drop everything to help - but she isn’t, and while this might go somewhere, Bow’s learned not to rely on magic and visions. Horde Prime’s army is all metal and wheels, technological superiority writ large. The Rebellion is still reeling, trying to figure out its limits and how to combat someone who can potentially just float above you and torch everything within sight.The nice thing, of course, is that technology can be worked around in a way magic can’t. Adora tells herself that’s why Bow’s not coming with her, and it’s not because she’s broken and useless now. She’s not sure she believes it, though.

Adora smiles anyway, because she doesn’t want Bow to worry any more than he already does. “Thanks for your help, Bow - and good luck with the ship! I’ll get Swift Wind and head there as soon as I can.”

Which is why, a short three hour ride later, Adora’s listening to George and Lance tell her everything they know about what existed before the Crimson Waste. Which is to say - frustratingly - not a whole hell of a lot.

“The thing is,” Lance is saying, hands running over the spines of various tomes as he looks for one in particular, “the Crimson Waste has been around for centuries. Since before the arrival of the Horde, in fact.”

“I’ve got a theory that its creation is what drove off the First Ones.” George offers.

“It uh, kind of was?” Adora says, and launches into what she’d learned from Mara’s recording. “I think the ship crashing caused it - but I need to know what used to be there. It was a forest of some kind, I think.”

Lance’s eyebrows threaten to climb off his head. “You’ve seen it?”

“I think so. It was part of the vision Bow told you about. Bow thinks there’s something important about what used to be there I need to know. Er, that’s his theory, anyway.”

George nods along, and Adora can tell that he’s skeptical but willing to help anyway, because he loves his son and he likes Adora well enough. “Okay, well… we have some older maps but none that date that far back. That leaves…”

“Myths and legends!” Lance says triumphantly, pulling a tome off the shelf. “We’ll start with regions near the Crimson Waste and move on from there.”

As it turns out, there’s a  _ lot _ of collected mythology to go through, and the sun’s long set without much success. Adora feels her eyelids growing heavy and shakes her head to clear it without success. George puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, a note of fatherly concern in her voice, “you should get some rest. No sense risking your missing something due to exhaustion.”

Adora’s shoulders tense. “But I  _ have _ to find this. It’s.. it’s all I can  _ do _ right now!” Her voice sinks lower. “I’m no good to anyone without the Sword.”

“Bow certainly doesn’t think so.” George says, firmly. “And neither do we. Lance will let you know if he finds anything while you’re asleep.”

Adora reluctantly lets herself be brought to what turns out to be Bow’s old room, and she surprises herself by falling asleep almost immediately.

“Daughter of Eternia, do you have an answer?”

Adora gets an unpleasant feeling in her gut, the way she used to whenever Shadow Weaver would ask her a question. She straightens her back and answers nevertheless. “Not yet, but I’m looking.”

The figure is still obscured by blinding light, but Adora swears it’s amused. “Looking? Tell me, Daughter of Eternia, what are you looking for?”

“For what was here before the Crimson Wastes.” Adora says, as if that should be obvious. “To find out more about Etheria.”

“You believe the answer to your purpose lies in a lost kingdom?” It’s  _ definitely _ amusement. “Daughter of Eternia, you were not chosen to be She-Ra because of old kingdoms.”

“Why  _ was _ I chosen?” Adora asks, because she’s struck with the sudden realization that whoever she’s talking to must have some connection to She-Ra, somehow.

“You ask a question of me without first giving an answer?” The figure’s arms fold across its chest in disapproval.

“I… apologize,” Adora says, feeling her way out, “but the answer may help me with your question.”

The figure’s posture turns thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps. Very well, Daughter of Eternia, I shall show you why you were chosen.”

_ The First Ones were fascinated by She-Ra. Their scientists worked tirelessly to understand the means by which she was made manifest - the means, they knew, by which she chose a successor. The current She-Ra did not mind their attention - the First Ones had been generous with their technology, so what was the harm in letting them study Etherian magic? She was only too happy to fight alongside them, to demonstrate her transformations - to explain the way runestones worked, and how she was unique in the construction of hers.  _

_ Her trust had been too freely given. The First Ones constructed the Sword of Protection, presented it as a gift - and She-Ra fell. The Sword exerted control over She-Ra’s will, caging it within the First Ones’ concept of order. She-Ra was no longer Etheria’s Protector. She-Ra was a soldier of the First Ones, protecting the interests of the First Ones on Etheria. The true blasphemy came upon the passing of She-Ra’s avatar, however. The goddess had seen fit, in the past, to choose whom she willed - yet now, the chains that bound her forced her to only choose First Ones candidates, ripping her from her people and binding her to their service. They militarized her, locking her powers behind an oath to an Eternian fortress, training the new She-Ras to behave as soldiers, dressing up subjugation as acts of compassion, of  _ civilizing _ those pockets of Etherian resistance who rejected the generosity of First Ones society. _

_ Yet even so bound, candidates were always kind, always compassionate, and honorable. The instinct to overthrow injustice, to  _ protect _ , could not be wholly erased. She-Ra still possessed that much power. Thus, they were doomed from the beginning to fail. When Mara was chosen, when she saw the true face of the First Ones, she rebelled - and she fell, disgraced and marked as a traitor and a madwoman, responsible for the destruction of a kingdom and the creation of the Crimson Wastes. The First Ones, however, were defeated; destroyed before they could find a new She-Ra by the remnants of the Etherian resistance that remained. She-Ra could not choose a new host, for the Sword of Protection still bound her - but when a new First One arrived, She-Ra watched closely, and called out when the time was right. _

Adora’s heart sinks. “So I was chosen because there was no other choice.”

“You were chosen,” the figure says, “because you possessed the qualities She-Ra seeks. Do not, however, be fooled into believing that there were not others in the centuries between Mara and you that did not  _ also _ possess those qualities, and chose to carry on the fight without She-Ra’s powers.”

There’s a stirring of understanding in Adora’s mind. “And with the sword broken…” she says quietly, “there’s no need to choose a First One as She-Ra.” Her eyes widen. “That’s why you’ve been asking me my purpose. You’re her. You’re She-Ra.”

Her vision clears, suddenly, and she’s staring at herself. Or at least, some version of herself. She-Ra stares down at her, impossibly beautiful, impossibly powerful. Her skin is every color and no color at once, the one consistency is the steel grey eyes and platinum hair. A massive aegis is slung over her back, but there is no sign of a weapon. Adora is, very briefly, breathless at the sight, and she wonders if this is how people saw her when she was transformed.

“Very perceptive, Daughter of Eternia.” She-Ra says, and there’s a kind smile on her face for a moment, before her expression hardens. “Now I ask once more.  _ Why are you here? _ What is your  _ purpose _ ?”

Adora’s mind whirls. She-Ra has not cast her aside. She still has a chance to make things right. She still can… and there’s the answer, staring her in the face. “My purpose,” she says, voice shaking, and she pauses, collects herself. “My purpose,” she repeats, and she thinks of the villagers she’s stood in front of Horde tanks to save, “is to protect those who require protection.” “My purpose,” She thinks of rescuing Glimmer from Shadow Weaver’s magic, of liberating countless Horde prisoners from work camps. “Is to free those who have been enslaved.” She thinks of the First Ones, of the damage they’ve done to Etheria. “My purpose is to right the wrongs of the past.” Unbidden, she thinks of Catra, of the promise she’d failed to keep, of her steadfast belief that her friend is still in there, somewhere. “My purpose is to heal.”

“And if you are doomed to fail in this?” She-Ra asks, challenging. “If your fate is to die, defeated, disgraced, as Mara did?”

Adora’s voice rings like steel on stone. “Then my purpose is to try.”

“Then, Daughter of Eternia,” She-Ra says, gesturing for Adora to kneel, “I shall aid you in your purpose.”

There’s an explosion of light and a roaring of wind. Lance charges through the bedroom door with his fists raised, only to stagger backwards in astonishment. She-Ra stands before him, looking somehow taller and stronger than she ever has before.

Lance is not lost for words for too long. “I uh, I take it you figured something out, Adora?”

She-Ra’s smile is like the sun. “I think so. I need to go, but… could I ask you to continue looking into the Crimson Wastes for me?”

“Of course.” Lance says, “though I’ve got to ask - if you’ve got She-Ra back, why do you need to know?”

“To fix things.” She-Ra says, simply. “A kingdom once stood where the Crimson Wastes are. It… I think it meant something to me, once. Something important.”

“Well, apart from the pure academic fun of it, I suppose that’s also as good of a reason as any.” Lance says.

As She-Ra approaches Brightmoon, she spots a Horde ship, falling fast and almost out of control. She shouts an order to Swift Wind, who moves to intercept (“I think this is a bad idea, Adora! But okay!”). Before they reach it, there’s a stab of light from above, and the ship disintegrates in a fireball. Debris rockets towards them, and She-Ra raises a hand. A massive shield appears, and the debris impacts harmlessly against it. 

“That’s new.” She-Ra says. 

“New is good!” Swift Wind replies. “I like new a lot! New keeps the pointy metal things from going through me!”

“Why do you suppose the Horde would fire on one of its own ships?” She-Ra asks, although she has a feeling that she knows the answer.

“Probably because the people on the ship aren’t from the Horde oh wait shit you don’t think that was-”

“Let’s get to Brightmoon, Swifty.” She-Ra says, cutting him off. “Maybe Bow will know something.”

She tries not to think of Glimmer being blown apart before she could save her. Two figures stand near the stone of Brightmoon as Swift Wind comes in for a landing. 

“Adora!” Glimmer shouts, and teleports over to her immediately. “You’re okay!”

She-Ra’s eyes are closed, and she holds Glimmer tightly, tears flowing down her face. “You got out!” She breathes, incredulous. “We were coming to rescue you!”

“Yeah, well…” Glimmer steps back, and looks back over her shoulder. “I uh, had some help.”

That’s when it sinks in, and She-Ra actually  _ looks _ at the second figure, takes in the way she’s holding one arm nervously, eyes cast downward, body tensed for an inevitable blow. Takes in the flattened ears and the way the tail lashes back and forth. 

Adora crosses the space between them hesitantly, warily.  _ My purpose is to heal _ , she thinks. Her voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Catra?”

Catra swallows nervously. She still can’t meet Adora’s gaze. “Hey, Adora. I uh…”

Whatever she’s about to say gets cut off as Adora throws her arms around Catra, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you.” Adora says, and then, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t…  _ didn’t _ help you when you needed it.”

“Oh, no.” Catra says, pulling back and looking Adora in the eyes, finally. “No, Adora, you don’t owe me an apology. I’ve hurt you and your friends so much. I don’t… I know I can’t be forgiven for it. Not for all of it. But I’m sorry, and… for what it’s worth, I want to help fight.”

_ She-Ra is the shield,  _ a voice echoes in Adora’s mind,  _ but the magicats are the sword. _

Adora stares into Catra’s eyes and sees something new there - a confidence that was never there before, and determination. There’s a moment where Adora considers the ramifications of allowing Catra into the Rebellion. The harm she’s caused will not be forgotten easily, nor can everything be made right.  _ My purpose is to heal _ , she thinks again. 

“Welcome to the Rebellion.” Adora says, and hopes Catra understands she means more than that.

“Thanks.” Catra says with a crooked smile. “But if you’d said no, I’d just have asked Glimmer to overrule you anyway.”

Adora’s laughter echoes through the castle, startling several birds and at least one dozing guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay fine I did it, I admit it, I couldn't resist at least one more bite of this particular apple. This is it, though - lord knows if you want more of Adora and Catra being soft and caring around one another you can read my other stuff (I might particularly point you in the direction of [my ridiculous Metal Gear/She-Ra thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512811/chapters/41254373) for more of what the kids might refer to as "the good stuff"(no knowledge of Metal Gear required, I promise)). I look forward to Season Five proving all this completely and utterly wrong. Thanks for reading! Thanks for leaving kudos! Thanks for leaving comments! Happy new year I guess?

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I got the image of Catra done up like Senua in the Hellblade 2 trailer getting all chanty and shouty and then turning into a giant fucking cat and wrecking shit, so I brought that image into the world.
> 
> And then a bunch of other shit happened, including (unsurprisingly), some Catra feeling guilty, some light Catra being hung up on Adora, and even a little Glimmer being way more understanding of Catra's deal than she's honestly got a right to be but whatever, only the gods can judge me.
> 
> Anyway, now the image is out of my head I can get back to Commander Without an Army or, you know, finally get around to that Lancer-inspired alternate take if only because I want to put everyone in mechs, all the time.


End file.
